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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30130158">would you be so kind (as to fall in love with me)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarasvevo/pseuds/katarasvevo'>katarasvevo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SK8 the Infinity (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Attempted Confessions, M/M, ft. langa's mom being a supportive parent, humour! misunderstandings!! mutual pining!!!, langa: oh no why is my heart beating like this?!, reki: langa you're the best :), they're idiots in love lmaooo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:06:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30130158</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarasvevo/pseuds/katarasvevo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p> “You’re ridiculous,” Reki is breathing out, his features full of wonder, shaking his head. “Dude. Bro. Buddy. Hello? I like you, too. I always have.” He brings a fist to his chest, and it is an action with conviction. “Full homo, by the way.”</p>
  <p>There’s the sound of cars zooming by. The chains of a swing-set screeching. The whisper of the wind as it blows through grass. </p>
  <p>Is this a dream? Is this real? Did Langa, at any point in time, hit his head so hard the impact slam-dunked him into an alternate reality? </p>
</blockquote>(In which Langa's attempts to confess don't go quite as planned.)
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hasegawa Langa/Kyan Reki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>warm me up like soup</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>would you be so kind (as to fall in love with me)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i wish renga a very canon</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is, by Langa’s count, quite possibly the hundredth time Reki has held his hand. Of course, Langa is not freaking out; in and of itself, the act is nothing new. Because a) they’re friends, and b) that’s just what friends do, obviously. Reki has done it before, he’s definitely going to do it again. It is far from uncharted territory.</p><p>“You gotta distribute your weight a little more,” Reki instructs him with a smile, guiding Langa forwards. “Don’t lean too much into one side.” He helps Langa assume the proper stance, and his touch is warm, reassuring, as it always is. “See? You’re getting the hang of it.”  </p><p>School’s done for the day, and they’re practicing behind an abandoned industrial complex several blocks away from Dope Sketch. This is hardly the right place to lose focus. Not when the board is threatening to shoot out from underneath Langa’s feet. Not when all his senses have narrowed down to the point of contact where Reki’s palm is clasped against his own.</p><p>And yet—                                                                           </p><p>“Dude! Are you okay?” Langa can vaguely hear Reki calling out in the direction where Langa has wildly veered off track and crashed into a wall.</p><p>Through the blurry haze of his vision, Langa can vaguely make out a figure darting across the asphalt in a frantic motion.</p><p>And then there are hands hoisting him up by the shoulders. Fingers pat Langa’s chest for any signs of injury. They ease a little once they find there’s none. There’s a sigh of a relief, and then Reki’s head shifts to the side, directly hovering above him, and it occurs to Langa that if he were to move his head just a fraction more, lean in a tiny bit closer, they’d be—</p><p>No. Langa is not freaking out. <em>Langa is not freaking out.</em></p><p>Langa is not—                                                                      </p><p>Reki’s hand, Langa suddenly registers with searing clarity, is <em>touching</em> his face. As in, palm to cheek. Thumb to jaw. “Langa, you’re—red. Shit. Look; your skin’s too warm. Are you sick? Do you have a concussion?” he exclaims in typical Reki fashion, gestures all pronounced and animated, voice rising by octaves. “We should get you home, ASAP, if that’s the case!”</p><p>“Reki, I’m … fine.” Langa breathes, or maybe chokes, this sentence out. Either way, it does little to detract from the fact that Langa is definitely not as fine as he thinks.</p><p>Reki’s eyes widen. They’re amber in the lighting. Pretty, a voice from the disembodied hollows of Langa’s mind whispers. “You certainly don’t look like it.”</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>Reki snorts. His other hand reaches out to cup Langa’s face in a birdwing’s cradle, and Langa’s brain just about shorts out. Implodes. “How can you say that you’re okay when—ah<em>,</em> Langa, you’re burning up!”</p><p>(Langa. Is. Finished.)</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Reki is funny, charming, and endearing in about a hundred different ways. Langa never stood a chance, honestly. The minute Reki showed up in his life, Langa immediately <em>knew</em> he was done for in a split-second instance. It’s a dramatic way of putting it, he’s aware, but the thing is, it’s not far-off from the truth.</p><p>“Langa, do you have a crush?” Langa’s mom makes this observation totally out-of-the-blue later on, once Langa’s back at home, and they’re both sitting in front of the television.</p><p>Some sci-fi epic is playing. Langa zoned out during the part where the retired war criminal distorted the communication array. It wasn’t enough to hold his interest, all that monologuing about, uh, interdimensional travel improbabilities. Now, he almost chokes on his tongue. “W-What?”</p><p>“You’re smiling at your phone,” Langa’s mom observes, maybe jokingly, lips curled into a smile.</p><p>Okay. Smiling at his phone. So maybe not that out-of-the-blue.</p><p>His mom must take Langa’s silence as a confession, because she lets out a stunned noise. The blasterfire in the background just about syncs with the thudding of Langa’s heart. A high-pitched shot across the gloom; thud. A metallic blast against a wall; thud.</p><p>Silence. His mom’s gaze grows contemplative. And then: “It’s not about a girl, is it?”</p><p>One of the generals onscreen unsheathes a plasma gun. An audible click sounds, and then someone’s being held hostage. The general orders a surrender. It’s to the view of a thousand sentinels. Here, there is neither such an audience nor demand, but Langa still feels weightless, a little out of his depth.</p><p>He wonders when he became this transparent. This obvious. “It’s …. not about a girl,” he stammers quietly, vaguely, the tips of his ears burning red.</p><p>The scene cuts to an exploding planet, and the room is momentarily washed a bright, artificial white. The lighting makes him squint for a long, drawn-out second.</p><p>“So it’s that boy,” his mom hums. She taps on her chin, contemplative. “Reki, right?”</p><p>Langa stills, breath hitching.</p><p>A score of synthesizers rises in the background.</p><p>It shouldn’t come off as a shock. His mom knows <em>of </em>Reki. Langa has talked about him more than he has probably talked about any other friend in his life. Her knowing what Reki means to him, though … he’s not sure how she could’ve derived that conclusion. Did he let something slip? Did he blurt out anything more than he meant to say?</p><p>As though as she heard his thoughts, she says this: “You know, you smile <em>differently </em>when you talk about him, Langa. Your eyes, your voice, they go—oh, I don’t know how to explain this—soft, somehow?” She draws up her knees to her chest. “It’s really sweet.”</p><p>Langa thinks. Of all the moments that led up to this. Reki’s hand against his own; the sound of Reki’s laughter, bubbling and unrestrained; the stagger of Langa’s heart when he looks at Reki, and <em>wants,</em> a yearning that has had time to build up and solidify underneath his skin.</p><p>His hand curls into his shirt. It feels a little like he has been run through with a bolt of lightning.</p><p>“I—I really like him,” Langa admits, cheeks flushed with heat.</p><p>The upholstery beneath them shifts. And then there are fingers ruffling his hair. His mom’s gaze is soft, <em>knowing.</em> “Oh, Langa.”</p><p>“But I don’t know if he feels the same way.” The fear sits, acerbic in his stomach.</p><p>She hums. “Well. You’ll never know unless you tell him.”</p><p>“Yeah, but it’s—complicated.” Langa scrubs at his face with a palm.</p><p>“Mm. Complicated, but not rocket science. If he likes you, he likes you. A simple enough equation. What else is there?” A laugh. “Oh, to be your age again, and experience young love!”</p><p>Langa looks at her with a jolt, embarrassed. “Mom,” he pleads.</p><p>She bumps their knees together teasingly. “Ah, bring him home one day, will you? I want to meet the boy this son of mine is head-over-heels for.”</p><p>The TV screen currently displays a ship being destroyed by the asteroids surrounding a binary star-system. Now would be a good time for Langa to transmigrate into the body of the pilot helming the said ship. The second-best alternative would be the ground swallowing him whole. That works, too.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You’ll never know unless you tell him.</em>
</p><p>Langa groans into his pillow.</p><p>(He tosses and turns in bed all night long.)</p><p> </p><hr/><p>-1</p><p> </p><p>The picture on the screen is decidedly a far cry from being an artistic rendition of a house cat. The brushstrokes imply no such grace. Not even squinting from another angle can warp the impression of the image into something that it simply isn’t.</p><p>“Seriously?” Reki is hovering at his shoulder. He’s so close that his hair tickles Langa’s cheek. “Wow. We got that completely wrong, huh. Also …” He reaches over, uses his thumb to scroll down Langa’s phone screen. “The fuck. The Monopoly guy doesn’t have a monocle? And—and Pikachu’s tail is just yellow? Not, like, black at the end? My whole life is a lie.”</p><p>“Yeah, and it was always magic mirror on the wall, not mirror mirror,” Langa supplies, hyperaware of Reki’s hand on his arm.</p><p>“Freaking Mandalorian effect.”</p><p>Langa’s mouth curves fondly. “You mean Mandela.”</p><p>“Ah, shit. Right. Mandela.” Reki waves vaguely, moving away so that he can settle on the chair he’s pushed to be besides Langa. He tips his head back in laughter, exposing the tan curve of his neck. It’s an endearing sight, to say the least. “Man, this is embarrassing.”</p><p>It’s lunchtime, and they’re in class. Honestly, Langa no longer remembers what they were originally talking about. It has sort of become a common theme with Reki. Minutes turning into hours. Conversations moving in loops, simultaneously going places and nowhere at the same time. But it’s not like it matters. It’s just so easy to lose himself into this easy camaraderie they have, that Langa <em>forgets,</em> if that makes any sense.</p><p>Maybe he can explain it this way; with Reki, his mind tends to focus so much on the “feelings” part, that everything else just fades away, white noise. Still there, but like, peripheral.</p><p>Speaking of feelings …</p><p>Reki is preoccupied with assembling a mini obstacle course out of stationery when Langa says, “Hey, Reki. I wanted to … ask you something.”</p><p>Reki fishes out his fingerboards from his pockets. “Mhm. Shoot.”</p><p>“Okay, so I … wanted to ask you if …I mean …” He trails off, hesitating.        </p><p>Rulers have turned into ramps; erasers into wedges. That makes the pencils surrounding the set-up some added theatrical flourish. Reki gets a fingerboard into position. “Yeah?”</p><p>He really should get it out of his system. Ask the question he’s been meaning to say. “Are you hungry yet?” he says instead, because of course he would want to take the coward’s way out.</p><p>Which is great. Perfect.</p><p>The fingerboard collides with a sharpener, and then some sort of domino effect happens. Pencils roll off. Pen caps scatter. Reki groans. And then, remembering Langa asked him a question, he says, “Nah, I’m alright for now.”</p><p>“Well, you should still eat,” Langa continues on, stupidly. “Because it would be good for you. You’ll get sick if you don’t.”</p><p>Reki shoots him an odd look. He props his chin on a palm. “Langa, you sound so worried about me. I’m flattered. But what’s brought this on?” Langa isn’t sure whether that teasing bend of his mouth is intentional or not. Nevertheless, it still manages to unmoor Langa, throw his centre of gravity into complete disarray.</p><p>“Because—because you take good care of me. So why shouldn’t I do the same?” Langa blurts out and alright, now would be a good time to dig up a hole. Bury himself. Something.</p><p>Reki blinks. And then blushes a deep pink. Probably from embarrassment. Definitely not anything else. “Langa,” he says weakly.</p><p>Langa almost can’t look him in the eye. He grips at his seat, as though he can <em>will </em>it into sentience and whisk him away into another continent. Another dimension. “What?”</p><p>“You make me seem like a mother!” he wails, burying his face into his hands.</p><p>Approximately zero percent of whatever Langa had hoped would happen is actually happening. Such is the way of the world. “Well, you’re not,” he says, suspecting Reki’s reaction is due to another cause entirely. “But you <em>are</em> my best friend.” Again, the words slip out before Langa has a chance to assess the outcomes.</p><p>Reki’s next intake of breath is so sharp it could cut wind. “Please,” he whines, peeking at him through splayed fingers.</p><p>Langa furrows his brows. “Do you not want me to say it?”</p><p>“No!” Reki’s hands drop away to reveal a face even redder than before. If they were in a cartoon, comical wisps of steam would be curling from his ears. “It’s not—it’s not that!” He sucks in another breath, like he’s calming what’s presumably the rapids of his mind into still water.   </p><p>“Then … what is it?”</p><p>“I thought it was my job to say those kinds of things!” Reki pinches the bridge of his nose. “It just sounds so different when it comes from you.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>“I can’t—I don’t know how to explain it.” Reki crosses his arms. “Whatever. I’m not talking. I’m too shy to answer that question!”</p><p>Langa blinks. Shy? That doesn’t sound like Reki at all. For a moment, he just stares at Reki, trying to figure out why the thing he said earlier on has made him<em> this </em>troubled. Because it wasn’t a joke or a lie; Langa was just pointing out the obvious. Maybe it was the timing. Or rather, the manner in which it was said.</p><p>Either way, this is awkward.</p><p>“Reki, your headband,” Langa murmurs, apropos of nothing.                               </p><p>Reki tilts his face to the side, expression scrunched up. “What about it?”</p><p>“Here, it’s crooked. Let me fix it.” Before Reki can protest, Langa has leaned over the table and pushed up the fabric where it rests low on his forehead.</p><p>Finally, the headband is back to its proper place.</p><p>“Langa,” Reki mumbles, shaking his head, once Langa has returned to his original sitting position. “Do you really … not know why …”</p><p>It is shaping up to be an impossible task, holding Reki’s gaze.</p><p>Reki sighs. “This is really too much for me…” As though snapped out of a daze, he plasters on a grin and waves his hands around. “Okay, you know what? Never mind. Let’s stop being silly, and just get milkbread. Since you mentioned it, I <em>am</em> actually hungry. Starving. You’re right; it would be bad if we got sick. Can’t let that happen.”</p><p>Before Langa can let out another stupid sound, Reki has dragged him to his feet by the arm, and Langa has no choice but to follow.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>-2</p><p> </p><p>Today is <em>not </em>the day. Langa can feel it in his bones. His heart, though, is trying to say otherwise, optimist that it is, but alas. These pesky nerves of his.</p><p>There’s a pair of hands covering his eyes. And a voice, right at his ear. “Guess who.”</p><p>Langa decides to play along. “How could I possibly tell.”</p><p>Hands lift off of his face. And then an arm is draping itself over his shoulder. “It’s me!” Reki grins.</p><p>Ba-dump. Langa looks down at his chest, palms sweating. God. He’s a mess. This is—well, bad. “Hey,” he says, swallowing thickly.</p><p>“Eh, what’s with that voice? Here I was, thinking you’d be happier to see me.” Reki pouts, and Langa, it transpires, has been walking a fine line this morning. A very fine line, prone to breaking at the slightest disturbance.</p><p>This can be rightfully classified as one. Because this is quite literally the flame to the gunpowder that is his emotions. The world is cruel, and Langa is a weak man. He cannot possibly be expected to endure torment.</p><p>Langa gives him a look.</p><p>“Dude. C’mon. Alright, alright, I was just teasing you,” Reki says, not very sorry at all, letting out an exhale-laugh, and it is a sound so gentle Langa wants to lean into it.</p><p>If only Langa had the courage to do so.</p><p>Ugh.</p><p>It shouldn’t be this hard to confess.</p><p>They’re just—words. A five second sentence. It’s not the Olympics.</p><p>But the way his mind is performing absurd mental gymnastics around the matter is making it seem like it is.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>-3</p><p> </p><p>So. Attempt number three: texting. It’s not face-to-face, but it does have its advantages. The major one: the added security of time.<em> That, </em>Langa needs a lot of.</p><p> </p><p><strong>reki:</strong> [image attached]</p><p><strong>reki</strong>: so. what do you think? be honest. miya says it’s horrible :(</p><p><strong>reki:</strong> ahh i shouldn’t have spread out my stats!!!!! no cool flame sword 4 me, im locked out of using it</p><p> </p><p>Langa may or may not be Highly Nervous at the prospect that today might just be the day he gets his shit together. So at the present moment, he couldn’t be less interested in discussing skill caps, dexterity builds, or the merits of opting for a glass-cannon playstyle over a strength-shield hybrid.</p><p>It doesn’t take long before the conversation shifts gears from being video-game-oriented towards something more general. The usual fare; skateboarding techniques, conspiracy theories, those infamous thirty-second YouTube meme videos.</p><p>Reki’s fictional crushes from those simulators he’s been playing.</p><p> </p><p><strong>reki:</strong> [image attached]</p><p><strong>reki:</strong> OK now pick the one u find most attractive. go on.</p><p> </p><p>Langa stares at the screen. He’s been so distracted he doesn’t even know what they’re talking about anymore. It’s of no real fault of his; he’s sure that if anyone else was in his position, they’d do the same. Sighing, he picks a character at random from the line-up.</p><p> </p><p><strong>reki:</strong> strange choice, but okay.</p><p><strong>reki</strong>: ooh is it because he looks like me?</p><p> </p><p>Langa squints. Now that Reki mentioned it, he does see a resemblance.</p><p> </p><p><strong>reki:</strong> aw is this ur way of admitting u like me? :P</p><p> </p><p>At this, Langa almost drops his phone. What is Reki saying? Is this even Reki? Has he been possessed by an extraterrestrial life-force whose sole purpose for existing is to torment Langa into an admission?</p><p>His fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitating. He types out the words. Deletes. Retypes them again.</p><p>Reki is only teasing. Like always. This Langa knows. No need to get his pants into a twist.</p><p>Langa sighs. Presses the backspace button.</p><p>Only—</p><p> </p><p><strong>langa:</strong> don’t you know i’m in love with you</p><p> </p><p>Langa blinks. Once, twice. This must be a mistake. No way he accidentally pressed the send button instead.</p><p>Oh. No, no, no. Quickly, he racks his brain on a tutorial for how to delete a message for both parties, but the read receipt has already made a terrifying appearance.</p><p>Langa’s fingers work faster than he can think.</p><p> </p><p><strong>langa:</strong> my hand slipped</p><p> </p><p>It’s only when he hears the sound of confirmation that a text has indeed been sent does Langa realize that’s quite possibly the most ineffective form of damage control he could’ve possibly done.</p><p>The speech bubble flickers. On and off. Off and on. For three excruciating minutes.</p><p>And then:</p><p> </p><p><strong>reki:</strong> ok</p><p> </p><p>Ok. Just—ok? That’s literally it? No gigantic, stuttering paragraph about how he understood it might or might not have been a mistake, about how it’s time to get to the bottom of this, once and for all?</p><p>Langa puts away his phone. Stares lifelessly up into the ceiling.</p><p>It’s never too late to realize that there are some secrets you’re better off taking with you to the grave.</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>+4</p><p> </p><p>It is to Langa’s good fortune Reki has so far made no mention of that mortifying exchange that went down this morning. In fact, he’s acting as though it never happened. Moments after Langa left him on read, Reki immediately asked him if he wanted to hang out later on, all nonchalant, and of course, Langa replied immediately, to accept the offer.</p><p>So that’s what they’re doing now. Hanging out. It is sunset, they’re at a park, the world stained orange-gold where the sunlight continues to linger, and—honestly, Langa would be lying if he said he hadn’t been expecting a cinematic confrontation. Like, that’s all his brain is seemingly good for, nowadays.</p><p>Coming up with scenarios where everything is fine and dandy, going one hundred percent according to plan. There would be less talking and more touching—and yeah, Langa is getting ahead of himself.</p><p>Reki’s hands are clasped behind his head as he glides down the walkway. Their conversation is punctuated by the grind of wheels against the ground. There’s only so much they can chatter on about before the elephant in the room demands that its presence be acknowledged.</p><p>It sits there, like a ball of electricity. The crackle of it singes. <em>Burns.</em></p><p>The first step would be to take initiative. Finally pulling the trigger—how bad could it go, really?</p><p>Langa eases his skateboard into a slower pace. And this is it. Now is the time. His chance. “So about earlier,” he ventures.</p><p>A sharp skid; Reki’s arms go through a careening motion, and then Reki <em>almost </em>hits the ground, board displaced from beneath his feet. This is the keyword. Almost; Langa’s hand has shot out protectively, fingers wrapped around Reki’s wrist to prevent him from falling.</p><p>Their eyes lock during that standstill.</p><p>Reki’s reaction is a violent noise of protest.</p><p>(Bad, apparently.)</p><p>“Um, sorry? What was that? I didn’t hear you!” Reki babbles, yanking his wrist away and cradling it to his chest.</p><p>A lie. Obviously. But can he be blamed?</p><p>“Reki. Can we—talk about it?” Langa says. It’s a miracle, how they even made it this far without speaking about you-know-what, when it happened just today. Today!</p><p>“Oh, would you look at the time!” Reki makes a show out of baring the skin of his arm to display an imaginary watch. “It’s getting super late. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have places to be, see you tomorrow, bye!”</p><p>He bolts.</p><p>Langa runs after him.</p><p>If Reki really wanted to hide, he would’ve been gone by now. Experience has taught Langa as much. Although Reki’s steps are fast, they’re not intensely so, and as a result Langa is able to easily catch up, placing a hand on his shoulder to halt him in his tracks.</p><p>“Please don’t run away from me,” Langa breathes out, slightly winded.</p><p>Reki is resolutely looking in the other direction. “I can’t promise that!”</p><p>I like you. I’m in love with you.</p><p>Langa’s chest constricts. Maybe Langa misunderstood earlier on. Maybe the reason Reki is not giving him an answer is because he already did. The running away part … maybe it was his way of saying no. But even so. Langa’s neck prickles with the chill of a passing wind. He owes it to himself to hear it from Reki.</p><p>Deep breaths in. Deep breaths out. Focus.</p><p>He can do this.</p><p>“Is it really so bad?” Langa says quietly.</p><p>The lines of Reki’s shoulders tense up. He turns around. “Huh?” he says blankly.</p><p>Langa shifts his foot. <em>“You know.</em> Me liking you.” It has not even been a second, and already his face is starting to heat up. He wants to throw himself off a cliff. “Do my feelings make you uncomfortable?”</p><p>At this, Reki’s mouth goes slack, and—and Langa knew it. He should’ve aborted the whole mission. It was always doomed to fail. Who was he kidding? What did he expect?</p><p>“I see,” Langa murmurs, voice cracking at the end. “I’m sorry, then.”</p><p>Oh, heartbreak. Truly such a terrible emotion. But he’ll be mature about this. To preserve his dignity, his honour, if not anything else.</p><p>He is not going to cry over this. He is not going to cry over a boy.</p><p>Miserable, Langa begins to turn away. Reki, who was frozen like a statue, chooses this exact moment to break out of his trance, and then a hand is wrapping itself around Langa’s wrist.</p><p>“No, no, no, Langa, stop. Don’t leave! I’m not going to let you!” Reki pleads.</p><p>Those words. They’re enough to get Langa to pause, halt in his tracks. His gaze returns to Reki’s face, and oh. Oh.</p><p>“You’re ridiculous,” Reki is breathing out, his features full of wonder, shaking his head. “Dude. Bro. Buddy. Hello? I like you, too. I always have.” He brings a fist to his chest, and it is an action with conviction. “Full homo, by the way.”</p><p>There’s the sound of cars zooming by. The chains of a swing-set screeching. The whisper of the wind as it blows through grass.</p><p>Is this a dream? Is this real? Did Langa, at any point in time, hit his head so hard the impact slam-dunked him into an alternate reality?</p><p>“I didn’t mean to run away from you,” Reki continues. “But you have to cut me some slack, okay? I was really afraid that you’d say you were only joking. I know: stupid, right? Well, at least I’m an idiot with reasons. Which is a lot better than being an idiot with none at all.”</p><p>Okay. So this is real, indeed. All of it.</p><p>Langa doesn’t know what to feel. The world around him has taken on a liminal-space filter. He could be in Mars, and the novelty would be completely lost on him. The reveal must’ve broken him. Rewired his frontal lobe. It’s the only explanation.</p><p>“Why would I ever joke about having a crush on you?” Langa says, once his voice returns to him.</p><p>“You said your hand slipped! You can’t blame me for assuming.”</p><p>Is it bad that Langa sort of wants to laugh now? “Yes, because I didn’t mean to send that. I was typing on my phone, just messing around, and then the message went through without my consent. But for what it’s worth, I meant it.”</p><p>There’s a soft pause. Evening arrived a while ago, and now lamplight gilds Reki’s features, turning his eyes into the colour of burnt caramel. A smattering of freckles dusts the bridge of his nose. Langa would like to trace constellations on them.</p><p>“I don’t know if I’m in a dream or not.” Reki sighs, scratching at the back of his neck. “Because, come to think of it, why me? I mean, you’re you, Langa. You could’ve fallen for anyone else. Like, that hot chick who gifted you those chocolates? Or—you know, the guy with the weird gelled-up hair, or—”</p><p>“Reki, that’s like asking why my favourite colour is blue. It just is. Yeah, sure, there’s a lot of people out there, but none of them are you. My best friend. You’re the only one I want,” Langa says earnestly.</p><p>A beat of silence. And then:</p><p>Reki screeches, jolting away. His face turns firetruck-red, and his foot must’ve caught on a stray rock, because he is stumbling backwards, falling. And because his hand has been wrapped around Langa’s wrist the entire time, they both end up crashing onto the grass together.</p><p>Langa squeezes his eyes shut to brace himself for the impact.</p><p>And when they finally open.</p><p>Langa’s breath hitches.</p><p>(He’s going to die.)</p><p>His arms. They’re—they’re braced around Reki’s body. And his thigh? It’s slotted between Reki’s legs. His legs! And Reki?</p><p>He’s under Langa, his face so close that Langa, no joke, can see the reflection of the moon on his irises. The stars, too.</p><p>This has to be the universe’s way of mocking them.                  </p><p>“Oh my God! What is this? The plot of a shoujo?” Reki yells, squirming where he’s been pinned down by Langa.</p><p>“Please don’t slap me,” Langa begs, because he’s seen enough shows to know the direction this might head towards.</p><p>“Langa, I’m fucking serious, you<em> are</em> going to be the death of me. No, this is not hyperbole! First you charm me with your honeyed words, and then the next thing I know, you’ve put us in a very compromising position!” Reki accuses.</p><p>Langa points out helplessly, “Was it my fault, though?<em> You</em> were the one who pulled <em>me</em> down.”</p><p>Reki’s mouth shuts, and he scrambles away, embarrassed. Langa unceremoniously gathers himself into a sitting position. The adrenaline of the moment has begun to fade away, leaving behind a vague sense of awkwardness between them.</p><p>“Well, that was weird,” Reki says, avoiding Langa’s gaze.</p><p>Langa makes a vague noise.</p><p>“I cannot believe you fell on top of me.”</p><p>
  <em>Me either.</em>
</p><p>“Imagine I had, like, giant boobs. I would’ve definitely punched you for sure.”</p><p>
  <em>Ha-ha.</em>
</p><p>Reki freezes, as though he’s remembered something very important. “Also, we left behind our skateboards.”</p><p>Langa jolts into alertness. Reki swallows audibly. They exchange glances, before quickly rising to their feet.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>+5</p><p><br/>Not long after, they end up at Langa’s place. And it’s great. Fine. Just peachy. Langa is not going to be weird about the fact he has just invited the object of his affections over.</p><p>“Where’s your mom?” Reki says, inspecting the varnish of the coffee table.</p><p>Langa shrugs. “Guess she isn’t here yet.”</p><p>“Do you know how that sounds—okay, <em>forget</em> that I asked.”</p><p>“You’re the one making stuff weird for yourself,” Langa says, now red-faced because the implication never crossed his mind until Reki decided to bring it up.</p><p>The seconds pass by, and then they’re talking. They really should be discussing about the confession but they’re not. Langa thought they learned their lesson about dancing around important matters, but some behaviours, he supposes, can’t be unlearned in an instant.</p><p>“Hey, wanna go to the arcade tomorrow?” Reki says, returning to his habit of bringing up random questions, non-sequiturs.</p><p>So they’re still in that stilted dialogue stage.</p><p>Langa thinks: Reki is always teasing him. Turnabout is only fair play. “Are you asking me out?”</p><p>As expect, the effect is glorious. Langa doesn’t think he can ever get enough of it, high colour spreading up Reki’s neck and then to his face. “Since you put it that way … sure.”</p><p>Okay, good. This is progress. Cool.</p><p>A conversation on 2010-era AMVs later, Langa is hit with a sudden stroke of inspiration. If Reki is going to purposely drag this out, then Langa is going to pull a UNO reverse card. Cut right to the chase.</p><p>“Reki, I just remembered something. I learned a new move. Here, I’ll teach you,” Langa says, hand outstretched.</p><p>Reki regards him with apprehension. “Oh, no you don’t! This must be a trick. Are you messing with me?”</p><p>Langa clears his throat to hide the tremors of his silent laughter. “Come on. It’s just our secret handshake. Only with an extra move set.”</p><p>“I swear, if this is one of those prank palmistry tests, I am going to seriously lose my marbles,” Reki grumbles. “It’s painful to admit, but I was dumb enough to fall for those during the entirety of elementary school. …”</p><p>Finally, he obliges Langa. Their palms collide, transitioning into a series of motions they know so well. And because the intent is to throw Reki off-course, Langa does not initiate anything out-of-the-blue for at least three repeat movements.</p><p>On the fourth, however.</p><p>“So what’s the special new addition? We’ve already got all the other steps down,” Reki says, his guard finally lowered.</p><p>Langa hums. “You’ll see.”</p><p>Hi five. Fist bump. Hook. Clap. Palm slide. So on, so forth.</p><p>And then.</p><p>At the tail-end of the last step, Langa’s fingers gently come to encircle Reki’s wrist. And then, he pulls.</p><p>Reki surges forwards. He comes to a stop centimetres away from Langa’s face. Langa’s eyes trace the bend of Reki’s mouth. His lips part—a silent invitation.</p><p>Reki’s gaze goes curiously dark. Probing.</p><p>Before Langa can do much else, Reki’s fingers have come to curl at the base of his jaw, and then Reki’s mouth is melting into his.</p><p>The kiss is this: a culmination of want, need, longing. It is emotion and a sigh and a joining of lips all at once. Langa takes, and gives, Reki’s pulsepoint against his thumb just about burning through skin. It is a slow and lazy rhythm, the warmth of it seeping in like liquid heat.</p><p>Langa eases off Reki’s mouth, settling on the corner of it instead. Then he presses a kiss to Reki’s chin, and the results of it are glorious. Reki shivers beneath his touch. Langa’s stomach pitches. He goes light-headed. He’ll have to do that again. And again. <em>And again.</em></p><p>“You liar. You tricked me,” Reki says weakly once they break apart, frowning.</p><p>Langa’s hands come up so they can cup Reki’s face. “Reki, <em>you</em> were the one who started kissing me.”</p><p>Reki swats him on the shoulder. “Yes, because you had to go ahead and resort to deception! Deceit! How dare you look so tempting and expect me not to kiss you out of your mind!”</p><p>Langa hums. “Sorry.”</p><p>He snorts. “Sorry, my ass.”</p><p>The pad of Langa’s thumb traces the curve of Reki’s cheekbone. “You’re blushing,” he murmurs softly. It’s so cute. Like watercolour.</p><p>A sharp inhale. “Langa! Sheesh, stop trying to kill me.”</p><p>Huh. Langa blinks. He said that out loud.</p><p>“So this is a game now, huh?” Reki’s eyes flash. <em>“Oh, </em>just you wait, I am going to charm you so hard, you will legitimately be rendered speechless for all eternity. You won’t even see it coming. I’m warning you. I will woo you within an inch of your sorry life. There’s no force in this world that can stop—”</p><p>“I’m in love with you,” Langa says, smiling.</p><p>Just like that, all words leave Reki. He deflates, like a balloon being stripped of air. He buries his face into Langa’s chest. His fingers instinctively curl into his shirt. Langa may be dying on the inside, but it’s worth it because he has this.</p><p>“You suck. I hate you,” Reki mumbles. “This really is too much.”</p><p>Langa idly toys with the strands of Reki’s hair. He smells of sun and citrus. “Mm, I agree.”</p><p>Reki pulls away so that he can shoot him a deep scowl. “Langa,” he warns.</p><p>“What?” Langa gives him an innocent look.</p><p>“Oh, you’re just asking for it now.” Absolutely no warning is given when he launches forward to kiss Langa so hard he can feel it in his jaw.</p><p>They end up being so distracted that they don’t even hear the jingling of a key twisting into the lock. Or the slide of the door when it opens.</p><p>“Langa, I’m home—<em>oh.”</em></p><p>The door clicks shut, and they spring apart so fast it gives him whiplash. No, no, no. <em>No.</em> Langa is beyond mortified.</p><p>“It’s not what it looks like,” Langa stammers out uselessly, even though it’s exactly what it looks like.</p><p>His mom takes in their disheveled appearances. “I see that I’ve interrupted something.”</p><p>The clock ticks. They’re breathing hard.</p><p>There is a very embarrassing pause.</p><p>Finally, his mom takes a step forward. Her gaze remains a sharp, inquisitive thing. And then she’s turning to look at Reki, and it’s like the floodgates of a terrible calamity have been opened.</p><p>His mom’s expression lights up like a million-watt Christmas tree. Oh no. “So you’re that boy my son can’t stop talking about!” she says, grinning.</p><p>Reki gives Langa a stunned look.</p><p>Langa just shuts his eyes.</p><p>(It ends up being a long, long night.)</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>done w/ exams, brainstormed this thing during work, as u can see this fic is basically just a mishmash of wish-fulfillment scenes. v on-brand of me to do this. will be re-reading this later bcs my poor eyes r dead rn rip</p><p>uhh i have a twt now bcs that's where all the cool kids are?? i'm lonely, <a href="https://twitter.com/ktrsvo">come say hi, i guess</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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